Chapter Eleven

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE.

Lyra stood outside Ryker’s office, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this was a risk, but she was out of options. If she didn’t find something—anything—she could use against him, she’d never survive in his world.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and slipped inside.

The room was cold, and sterile in its precision. Bookshelves lined the walls, meticulously organized, and the desk in the center was pristine, every item placed with purpose.

It screamed control, much like the man who owned it.

She moved quickly, her eyes scanning for anything that stood out. A locked drawer caught her attention, the keyhole taunting her. She tested it, but it didn’t budge.

“Figures he’d lock away the good stuff.”

Turning her focus to the computer, she tapped the screen. It lit up, but a password prompt appeared. Frustration bubbled up as she rummaged through the drawers, finding papers, business contracts, and nothing of immediate use.

In the corner of the desk was a leather-bound ledger. The words “Debts Paid” were written in bold on the cover.

Lyra flipped it open, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the entries. Dates, initials, and large sums of money filled the pages.

“What does this mean?”

She moved to the bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines until her hand stopped on a photo album. Pulling it free, she opened it to reveal a collection of photographs. Most were of Ryker, younger but unmistakable, his sharp features just as striking.

But one photo made her pause.

It was of Ryker standing beside a beautiful woman with dark hair. She looked happy, her smile bright and genuine. But someone had drawn a large, dark “X” over her face.

Lyra’s chest tightened. Who was this woman? And what had she done to warrant such a mark?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway jolted her. She barely had time to shove the album back into place before the doorknob turned.

Panic set in as she darted behind the heavy curtains, pressing herself against the cold windowpane.

Ryker entered, his presence filling the room instantly. Lyra held her breath, her pulse roaring in her ears.

He moved toward the desk, his footsteps slow and deliberate. The rustle of papers and the click of his pen were deafening in the silence. She willed herself to stay still, every muscle tense.

After what felt like an eternity, Ryker sighed and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Lyra stayed hidden for another few moments, her body trembling.

“Who is he? And what is he hiding? If I can uncover his secrets, maybe I’ll finally have the upper hand.”

Lyra crept out of the office and hurried down the hallway, her breathing uneven. She had just turned the corner when she nearly collided with Ryker.

His hand shot out, steadying her as she stumbled back.

“Jane,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriating calm. “What a surprise. You look… unsettled.”

She swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I was just looking for the library.”

Ryker tilted his head, his eyes scanning her. “The library is in the opposite direction. But you already knew that.”

Her stomach dropped. He was toying with her, she could feel it.

“I got turned around,” she said quickly, stepping back. But Ryker didn’t let go of her arm.

“Turned around,” he repeated, his tone deceptively casual. “Or somewhere you shouldn’t have been?”

She pulled her arm free, straightening her posture. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Ryker’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t need to accuse. Your expression says enough.”

Her pulse quickened as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. She took a step back, but he matched it, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “what were you doing, Jane?”

“I told you,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady. “I was looking for the library.”

“And I told you,” he replied, leaning in slightly, “I don’t believe you.”

Her breath hitched as his eyes bored into hers, a mix of danger and intrigue in his expression.

“Whatever game you’re playing,” he continued, his voice a quiet threat, “it won’t end well for you.”

Lyra’s fists clenched at her sides. She was tired of feeling cornered, of being treated like prey. “Maybe I’m not the only one playing games, Ryker. Maybe you’re afraid of losing, too.”

His eyes flickered with something—amusement, perhaps, or annoyance. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You think you’re clever,” he murmured. “But clever doesn’t mean invincible.”

She stood her ground, refusing to flinch. “Neither does powerful.”

For a moment, the air between them was electric, the tension crackling like a storm waiting to break. Ryker’s lips twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh.

“Careful, little liar,” he said softly. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And you’re not?” she shot back.

He leaned in, his voice a whisper. “The difference is, I always win.”

In the privacy of his quarters, Ryker sat in the armchair by the window, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside. He couldn’t shake the image of Lyra from his mind—her defiance, her fire.

“She’s reckless, but she’s not stupid. That makes her dangerous. And dangerous can be… exhilarating.”

She was a complication, one he hadn’t anticipated. But complications could be controlled. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again.

“She’s more than a pawn. She’s a wildcard. But wildcards can be tamed.”

He reached for a notepad on the table, scrawling a brief note. It was time to turn the screws, to force her hand.

***********************

In her room, Lyra paced once more, her mind racing. The photograph, the ledger, the locked drawer—they were all pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t yet solve. But she would.

She stopped in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. She looked tired, but determination burned in her eyes.

“He wants to break me, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. If I’m going down, I’m going down on my terms.”

Tomorrow, she would confront Jane. She needed answers—about Ryker, about this marriage, about everything.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of paper sliding under her door. She froze, then moved cautiously to pick it up.

The note was brief, written in bold, deliberate handwriting:

“You have 24 hours to tell me who you are. Or I’ll find out myself.”

Her stomach tightened as she crumpled the paper in her hand.

“The walls are closing in, but I’ll die before I let him win”